Then I kiss her.
It's not tentative. Not testing. It's claiming and surrendering at once. My mouth on hers, demanding and reverent, tasting salt and sunlight and Victoria.
She makes a small sound, surprise turning into response. Her hands come up to grip my shirt, and she's kissing me back with equal fervor. Equal hunger.
The world narrows to this. Her lips, her exhale, her heartbeat against my chest. The warmth of her body, the taste of her mouth, the way she melts into me like she's been waiting for this as long as I have.
When we break for air, we're both gasping. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, lips swollen from the kiss.
"Maksim," she whispers, and the name lands between us like a confession.
I grin, though my heart is racing and my hands want to shake with how much I want to kiss her again. "You'd better hope he's willing to share."
The words come out rough. Promising. Loaded with everything I'm not saying. That I want this, want her, want to see where this dangerous attraction leads.
Her eyes search mine, looking for answers I'm not sure I have yet. The silence stretches between us, fragile and charged.
Neither of us speaks.
Neither of us moves.
We just stand there in the aftermath of the kiss, breathing the same air, caught in the space between what just happened and what comes next.
15
VICTORIA
The SUV feels too small.
Leather seats creak every time I shift position. The air is thick with my perfume mixing with Maksim's cologne until I can't tell where his scent ends and mine begins. The space presses in from all sides, claustrophobic despite the luxury, the tinted windows, the careful distance we're maintaining on opposite sides of the back seat.
Behind us, another armored SUV follows at precise intervals. Zakhar and Alexei inside, part of the security detail, part of the show of strength we're bringing to Ramiz Krasniqi's door.
The space between Maksim and me hums with tension that has nothing to do with where we're going and everything to do with what's happened. What's still happening in the dangerous silence neither of us knows how to break.
I replay Alexei's kiss for the hundredth time since it happened this afternoon.
The heat of his mouth. The way his hands framed my face like I was precious and dangerous at once. The roughness in his voice when he said that word I can't stop thinking about.
Share.
My thighs clench involuntarily. Heat coils low in my belly, unwelcome and undeniable.
This is insane. I'm losing control in ways I can't afford.
I've spent years perfecting the art of emotional distance. Learned how to flirt without wanting, how to weaponize attraction while remaining completely unmoved by it. That skill kept me safe when nothing else could. Kept me functional when trauma tried to shut me down entirely.
The Severyns demolished that defense in weeks.
Maksim kissed me at the altar and I forgot to breathe. My body responded before my mind could intervene, yielding to his mouth, wanting more even as I knew it was performance. Except it didn't feel like performance. Not when his hand slid into my hair. Not when his tongue swept against mine and pressure built in my chest I couldn't name.
Alexei kissed me this afternoon in the pilates studio and I forgot why I was supposed to resist. Forgot every rule I'd built about keeping distance, maintaining control, never letting desireoverride strategy. His kiss tasted like sunlight and recklessness and the particular freedom of someone who's survived enough to stop caring about consequences.
And Zakhar with his dark quiet energy. I find myself thinking about him. Wondering what it would feel like to have that controlled intensity focused entirely on me.
I'm married to one of them.
The thought surfaces like an accusation.
